


The Michael Sword

by paxgrimsby



Category: AU - Fandom, Hunger Games - Fandom, Supernatural, crossover - Fandom, destiel hunger games, supernatural hunger games - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:37:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4948699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxgrimsby/pseuds/paxgrimsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the ruins of a place once known as North America lies the nation of Panem, a shining Capitol surrounded by twelve outlying districts.  Long ago the districts waged war on the Capitol and were defeated.  As part of the surrender terms, each district agreed to send one boy and one girl to appear in an annual televised event called, "The Hunger Games," a fight to the death on live TV.  Seventeen-year-old Dean Winchester, who lives alone with his father and younger brother, regards it as a death sentence when he is forced to represent his district in the Games.  The terrain, rules, and level of audience participation may change but one thing is constant: kill or be killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Dean woke up on the crisp, sunny morning, he could feel the other side of the bed behind his back radiate the cold. His hand immediately moved over, expecting to find the small figure of Sam lying underneath the quilt but instead his fingertips brushed over the edge of the mattress. He sat up in bed quickly, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the ball of fur and blanket curled up near the burnt out fireplace. Protecting Sam from the cold was the tiny golden retriever Bones who kept his head down on top of his paws. Smaller then the average dog with one blind eye, Bones also suffered from half his ear being chewed off. The dog had been under Sam's care ever since he was brought through the front door, never leaving the kid's side and always waiting for him to come home. Dean wanted the dog thrown out, or at least turned into dinner, but Sam wouldn't allow it. He begged to the point where tears sprung in his eyes and Dean caved too fast. The dog turned out to be useful, much to Dean's surprise. He chased the mice down and kept Sam occupied so he wouldn't have to think too much about their crap life.

The way Sam buried his face into Bones' side, Dean could tell his younger brother was having nightmares. Of course every twelve year old would have nightmares about this day every year. Today was the day of the reaping.

Dean sat up and pushed the covers off the lower half of his body while swinging his legs over the side of the bed. As quietly as he could he grabbed the leather boots and jacket that hung on the chair beside his cot, ignoring the creaking of metal springs below him. Dean shoved the boots on his chilled feet and rose while shrugging the jacket on his shoulders. He stepped past his little brother and Bones who lifted his head for a moment to see why Dean had gotten out of bed. The dog watched as Dean held a finger to his lips before settling back down on the ground and closed his eyes.

Dean stepped towards his father and Sam's room which was just on the other side of the kitchen, peeking his head inside he could make the figure buried underneath the covers to be John Winchester. The room reeked of alcohol and sweat. It was the only thing Dean could smell that would instantly remind him of his father. He was glad his bed was located in the main room of the house, even though he didn't have his own room. He wouldn't be forced to sleep in the pile of junk his father kept around and refused to clean up. John looked older then what he truly was when he slept, his face even harder as dreams consumed his unconscious. He didn't come out and say it but both his sons knew most of his nightmares were about his late wife, Mary.

The fire that claimed her life had haunted the family ever since Dean was four and Sam was just a baby. His younger brother couldn't remember it but Dean did clearly, having to carry Sam out the front door and watch neighbours come with pales of water to try and douse the flames. It took three people to drag John from the house. He tried desperately to save their mother, but the fire took her long before John could even think to try. That weight had been on John's shoulders for years, and one day, he snapped. And Dean had to be the one to pick up the pieces.

Slowly backing away from his father's room, Dean headed for the front door, but not before picking up brown forage bag left in the kitchen. On top of the table hidden underneath a wooden bowl sat a freshly made pound of goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves, curtesy of Sam's moody pet goat, Ruby. The cheese was Sam's reaping day present, one Dean was very grateful for. Before leaving the house he slipped it into his pocket before disappearing into the morning mist.

This part of District 12, the part in which Dean spent all of his life growing up in, was nicknamed the Seam by the people who lived there. Most people living within it included coal miners who at this time of day would be headed towards the mines. The miners, their shoulders hunched, trudged along the dirt path together. But not today. Today the streets were barren, starving children and overworked men and women were in their homes with closed windows and boarded doors. No one woke up early on Reaping Day, that is, if they slept at all the night before, or if their dreams weren't ridden with nightmares. The tension that stung through the Seam was like a slap in Dean's face. The worry was thick in the air from people both awake and asleep. No one was safe.

Near the edge of the Seam was a chain-link fence that stretched high and was topped with barbed-wire loops. According to Peacekeepers, the fence was live with electricity twenty four hours a day, sending pulses of shocks to anyone who dared touch it. But in reality, it was never on. It was supposed to keep predators that lived in the woods outside District 12 away, but it was also to keep the people inside. Although that didn't stop Dean who leaned his head towards the fence. He strained his ears, trying to pick up any hint of the electric charge, but he was met with silence. Without turning his back Dean slipped underneath the fence and into the brush that lay in front of him, never turning to check if anyone followed. Barely anyone dared to venture outside District 12, though few desperate enough for food did. Dean was one of those people.

Dean could feel a weight lift off his shoulders as the trees hid him from the district. Out in the woods, he felt a sort of freedom he could never feel inside those walls. A ghost of a smile lit his lips as he picked his way through the bushes and towards a familiar hollowed out willow tree where he hid his weapons. Daggers. He pulled the belt out of the tree and secured it around his waist, taking one of the handles he tossed it up into the air and caught it again, admiring the sharp blade. Dean had spent hours training himself with daggers. He prided himself more in his talent with guns, but bullets were hard to come by. When Dean was twelve, he found his father's gun hidden underneath his bed. It was one of the few things they'd saved from the house fire. Dean stole that gun and brought it to the woods, training day after day to make sure whenever he pulled the trigger he never missed his mark. It came in hand when trying to catch game. Squirrels from one hundred yards away had no chance against Dean. The bullet would sink into their eyes and dinner would be set for the night. The only problem was getting enough ammo to last when it came to hunting. Most times Dean would have to rely on the traps he made or the berries and other plants Sam would tell him to pick. When the gun was empty, dinner was a little more scarce. Unless they were starving, however, bullets were saved for the colder season.

After collecting his daggers and pocketing the gun in case it was needed, Dean ventured deeper into the forest. He strode with confidence, sheathing a dagger from his belt and stepping soundlessly as he made his way through the forest. He was a hunter, a damn good one, and knew how exactly to catch game. Hunting was illegal and if you were caught poaching the penalties were severe. People like Dean who had weapons were more likely to get caught in the woods then those who went in with a simple kitchen knife. Having just a knife was risky, one time Dean was chased through the brush by a large rabid dog and barely escaped with his life. His only defence were his daggers. Those barely scared the dog and Dean had dropped the game he collected so it would occupy the wild beast while he escaped. His plan had worked, but his family went hungry. The game usually caught that didn't feed his father and younger brother went to the Peacekeepers, his best customers. Under the law, if he was caught by them selling goods from outside the fence, he should be executed. Though they're just as desperate for fresh meat as the rest of the district, so they're keen to turn a blind eye.

A twig snapping caught Dean's attention and he whirled around. At first he was nervous, someone had seen him sneaking into the woods and reported it. But most Peacekeepers bought from Dean, so the trouble he'd get into would most likely be a warning. Just behind a thick trunk stood not a man, but a buck whose head shot up. Dean held his breath as he stared at the giant animal that looked around the forest for any immediate sign of danger. It'd been so long since Dean had seen that much meat wandering around this side of the woods. This kind of animal could feed them for days, the rest being sold for other necessities like blankets or medicine. Dean slid his dagger back into its spot and took the gun from his waist before raising it. This was worth a bullet.

A smile, a true genuine smile, rose on Dean's face as he took aim between the buck's eyes. He never missed this shot.

"What do you think you're gonna do with that, Winchester?" A familiar booming voice shouted from behind Dean. This sudden change spooked the deer who darted away, dashing towards the leaves for cover. Dean's hands followed the buck until it was gone from sight and the gun fell to his side.

"Son of a bitch." He muttered before spinning on his heel. When Dean turned he was met with the dark brown eyes that always dared to challenge him. "Jo, what the hell!"

Jo chuckled, heading down the short hill in the woods until she was face to face with Dean. From the closer view, he could see clearly the brown orbs he'd recognized. "What did you really think you were going to do with that today, huh?" Jo challenged, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"I dunno, maybe sell it to the Peacekeepers." Dean replied, his anger blazing. "That was the first deer I'd seen in a year, Jo."

"It's not like you could sell it to Peacekeepers today." Jo said. "Besides, I've got a much better prize."

From behind her back Jo pulled out a loaf of bread with an arrow sticking out of it. This brought a chuckle out of Dean which sent a smile upon Jo. As long as he wasn't mad at her, Jo didn't care. Dean took the bread from her and smelled the freshly cooked pastry, still warm under his touch. He tried not to drool on the bread and ignored the grumbling from deep within his stomach. Instantly Dean could recognize the bakery bread and not the cheap crap they attempted to make at home. This almost brought a frown to his face, but he didn't want to let it show.

"What'd it cost you?" Dean asked. Jo would have been at the bakery early this morning to get something this fresh.

"Just a squirrel." She answered. "I think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning, he even wished me good luck."

"Well everyone gets nice and cozy on a day like today." Dean said while taking the cheese Sam had made and handed it over to Jo. "Sammy left us this cheese."

Jo's expression brightened dramatically as she took the glob of cheese in her hand and looked towards the sky. "Thank you, Sam. We'll have a real feast." Jo said, her voice taking on the familiar accent of the district's escort, Pamela Barnes. Most district escorts tried to be upbeat and happy. That was what people from the Capitol were like. But not Pamela. She dressed much more... plain compared to that of the Capitol people. She wasn't cheery or happy, she was calm and collected. It was like she could empathize with the districts, she didn't see the Games as just games like most Capitol people did. Pamela tried to smile, she tried to keep up her appearance like her job title requested. Pamela read the names of the tributes out loud and led them towards the Capitol to prepare for the games. "I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games!" Jo said, plucking berries from the bushes surrounding the two of them. "And may the odds - "

She tossed one of the berries high into the air so Dean could catch it in his mouth. When the flavour hit Dean's tongue he closed his lips and swallowed. " - be ever in your favour!" Dean finished with the same amount of verve. It had been a joke between Jo and Dean to try and ease the tension of the games. Besides, they'd found the Capitol accent so amusing they'd decided to trump it's awful curve of tongue every change they got. Dean and Jo made their way towards the clearing deep within the woods they always sat at before the Reaping. Jo settled herself on the ground and began slicing the bread while Dean laid down beside her, popping berries into his mouth as he watched her. Jo and Dean could have been, and have been mistaken, for cousins.

Over time her once light and wavy blonde hair had turned to a sandy colour, the same shade of his. And where Dean's skin was more tanned, Jo leaned towards the paler side. The two of them, however, were no way at all related. It'd been surprising for Jo and Dean to be seen in the Seam. Most people who lived there shared the dark hair, olive skin, and light grey eyes. This is how you identified the mining population. People from the small merchant class shared the lighter hair and fairer skin.

Jo spread the goat cheese on top of the warm bread before carefully placing the basil leaves on each piece while Dean gave her a handful of berries. As soon as he took a bite of Jo's catch he tried not to moan. The bread was heaven in Dean's mouth, a luxury they usually couldn't afford but on days like this Dean really could appreciate them. He'd preferred to spend all day with Jo, disappearing into the woods and not returning home until the crack of sunset. But they had to be in the town square at two o'clock, standing and waiting for the two names to be called out. But what if they weren't there? What if Jo and Dean never showed up to the Reaping, because they were gone? They went to the woods every day, the left District 12 every day. What if they decided not to come back?

"We could do it, you know." Dean said out loud.

"What?" Jo asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Leave the district. Run off and live in the woods. The two of us, we could make it," said Dean. Jo looked taken aback by his idea of leaving. It just... it just couldn't happen. "If we didn't have so many kids." He added quickly after to try and get her to smile.

They weren't Jo and Dean's kids, of course, but the way they protected and took care of them, they might as well have been. Jo had two little sisters, Jody and Jess, and Dean had Sam. They might as well throw in Jo's mother, Ellen and Dean's father, because they would have never survived without Dean and Jo. They always fed them, they always made sure there were blankets, and wood for the fire. Jo and Dean hunted daily and even then sometimes they'd go home empty handed and nights would go by with growling stomachs.

"I'm never having kids." Jo stated, leaning back on her elbows and staring out over the hill. Having gone through the Reapings himself, the agony of waiting to hear your name called out and having to participate in the Hunger Games, he could never doom a child of his to do that. He already has to do that with Sam. There are only two more years for him to volunteer in case Sam gets picked. After that, no one will. No one would would step up to volunteer, hell it'd been too many years for anyone to remember the last time someone volunteered.

"I would, if we didn't live here." Jo added.

"But we do." Dean said, irritated.

"Forget it." Jo snapped back.

The conversation felt completely wrong to Dean. She was right, how could they just leave? He couldn't leave Sammy, the only person in the world he was sure he loved. And Jo was just as devoted to her family. They couldn't leave... there were too many things that could go wrong, too many things they'd have to consider. It sounded so simple to just grab their belongings and take off into the night, but the complexity hidden behind it was far greater. And where did all this stuff about having children come from? Dean squinted his eyes as he turned to Jo, trying not to make it obvious he was staring at her, but he tried to figure her out. There wasn't anything ever romantic between the two of them. When Dean first met Jo, he was a lanky twelve-year-old boy, and even though she was only a year older, she already looked like a woman. Jo argued that Dean was never lanky, he was always a strong kid, and in due time Dean did start to look like the rest of the boys his age. Due to all the hunting his muscles strengthened, he grew taller. It took a while for Jo and Dean to even become friends because they didn't trust each other. But in time they became two halves of the same sword.

And even if Jo wanted kids, she wouldn't have any trouble finding a husband. She was extremely stunning, sandy golden hair, deep brown eyes, she was strong, and quiet skilled in medicine like her mother who tried to help as many people in the Seam as possible with the little amount of money and supplies they had. Dean could tell by the way the boys would talk about her when she walked by in school that they wanted her. It made Dean jealous, but not for the reason people would usually think. She's a good hunting partner, and those come a dime a dozen. And Dean never thought of Jo romantically. She was always more of a sister to him and her feelings towards Dean were exactly the same.

"So what do you want to do? We can hunt, fish, or gather." Dean said, trying to break the tension between them.

Jo looked over at him. "How about we go fishing at the lake. We can leave our poles and gather in the woods and have a good treat for tonight." She replied.

After the Reaping when the two children are picked for the Games, everyone else celebrates that their own kids haven't been chosen that year. However two families always retreated into their homes and locked their doors, trying to figure out how they'd survive watching the screen in the next few weeks.

The morning hunt turned out to be successful. Predators decided to leave them alone, they made good time treking through the woods towards the lake. Starting into the afternoon Dean and Jo caught a dozen fish, rounded up a bag of greens and picked a bucket full of strawberries. While making their way back home the two decided to stop by the local black market called the Hob which, before becoming an illegal trading post, was a coal warehouse. Most stands were closed that day because of the Reaping, but still business flowed as usual. Most of the fish were pawned and they obtained bread and salt. Rufus, an old man who sold hot soup and illegal alcohol, traded them some beer for the greens. Rufus was an associate of theirs, not really a friend, but he was a good trading partner who was pretty fair.

Once business at the Hob was finished Jo and Dean headed towards the mayor's house. The mayor of District 12, Carver, had a special place in his heart for strawberries, and was willing to pay full price for them despite most people. Zachariah, the Mayor's son, met Dean and Jo at the back door with a bag of coins in hand. Zachariah was a year older than Dean. To most people, Zachariah was a snob, and he liked to gloat about being his father's son. He was always like this in front of Dean, but when Jo was around, his tone lightened a bit. Maybe he tried to impress her, Dean wasn't sure, but he wasn't a complete jerk when she came selling. Zachariah and Dean never talked outside of business, and he liked to keep it that way.

"Nice jacket." Dean commented. Zachariah shot him a look. Instead of the clothes Zachariah usually wore for school he was dressed even cleaner in a white button up shirt, black jacket with matching trousers, and a thick, black tie. Dean noticed a pin stamped proudly on his chest. He could make out wings and a sword but tore his eyes away to look back at the mayor's son. Zachariah studied Dean for a moment, trying to decide if he was being sarcastic or actually handing him a compliment.

"If I do end up going to the Capitol, I don't want to look like a slob." Zachariah replied. Dean tried not to glare at Zachariah. This was his last year in the Reaping, so of course he could crack jokes like this. But Dean didn't find it funny.

"You're not going to the Capitol." Dean said. "You probably have, what? Five entries? When I was twelve my name was in there six times."

It wasn't Zachariah's fault Dean had to enter his name so many times. It's just how things were. Zachariah rolled his eyes, placing the money in Jo's hand before taking the berries and going to close the door. He stoped for a minute, looking down at Jo. "Good luck." He said, his eyes quickly flashing towards Dean who nodded in reply.

"You too." Jo nodded before the door was closed. Jo and Dean headed back towards the Seam, Dean's mind swimming about the day. It was unfair, the Reaping system. Any poor child could enter their name into the Reaping more times in exchange for tessarae, food and oil that was supposed to last a family a year. Of course as soon as Dean was twelve he signed on for it, getting enough for his family even though that meant his chances to enter the Games was even greater. This was nation wide across Panem, most children who could afford to survive without tessarae would only have to put in their names at twelve years old one time. By eighteen their names would only be in seven times, but not Jo. This was Jo's last year, and her name was in there twenty eight times whereas Dean's name was in there eighteen. A lot of people resented Zachariah, not for being a total douche but because he didn't need to enter his name for tessarae because he had enough food. It's wasn't his fault, it's just how things work.

Dean knew his anger at Zachariah was misdirected, just the same as Jo's. Dean could recall days in the woods where Jo could scream at the top of her lungs about how unfair the system worked. She'd rant on and on about how the tessarae was another tool used to inflict misery on the district. It fuelled the hatred between Seam workers and those who could afford supper on their table every night. "It's the Capitol's way to divide us." Jo would have said if no one was around to hear them. 

As they approached the Seam the two of them decided to part ways, promising to meet each other after the Reaping and celebrate that night with each other's families just like they did every year. Jo gave a short wave as her bag clung to her shoulders, Dean's own being slung onto his back while the strap sat tightly in his hand.

"See you in the square." Jo said.

"Wear something pretty." Dean replied flatly before heading home.

Inside the old house Dean found both his father and Sam ready to go. John was dressed in a nice button up shirt and trousers that thankfully didn't have any stains on them. It was surprising to see him look a little more alive then he usually did. Although he still smelt of cheap alcohol but not as strong as it usually was. Sam was dressed in a blue plaid shirt, a size too big, with brown trousers. In his father's room Dean found a tub of warm water waiting for him so he set his hunting bag down and fell into the bath. He scrubbed all the dirt and sweat off his body, even washing his hair which turned from brown back to sandy blonde. Waiting on Sam's bed he found one of his father's shirts, clean and neatly set, along with a pair of jeans that surprisingly weren't ripped. He dressed himself before stepping out, finding his father waiting in the main room with a tie in hand. Him and Dean locked eyes for a moment before his father knelt in front of Sam and helped him secure the tie.

"You sure you want me wearing this?" Dean asked. Dean had been angry at John, and rarely let him do anything for him. Ever since he was a child Dean listened to his father's orders, obeyed, like a good soldier. But after he snapped, Dean wanted nothing to do with his father who abandoned both his sons. The shirt John left for Dean was one he wore at his and Mary's, Dean's mother, wedding. It was getting washed by a friend when the house burnt down. One more memory of her. It was surprising that John even brought it out of the closet.

"Course I'm sure." John replied. Dean nodded, trying not to grit his teeth as he took the towel he'd brought from the bath and dried his hair. 

"You look good." Sam smiled. Dean grunted while turning to the old mirror that hung by one nail on the wall, running his fingers through his damp hair with no hope on grooming it. He didn't really care how he looked on Reaping, if he was to be chosen he didn't want to look his best in the Capitol. Zachariah's words rung in his ears.

"I look like the merchant's kids." Dean replied while smiling down at Sam, ruffling his hair lightly. The next few hours were going to feel like hell for Sam. This was his first Reaping he'd ever been through, and even though his name was only in there once, he was worried off his wits. Dean wasn't going to let Sam take tesserae. The only risks he'd allow Sam to have is one slip of paper in the bowl. The person most worried about Sam was Dean, his anxiety was through the roof thinking about all the worst scenarios. All of them were the same. Sam got his name drawn.

There wasn't any time Dean wasn't protecting Sam, but when it came to the Reaping, Dean was powerless. He had endured every throw life had punched him with, suffered every pain imaginable, and still stood strong and looked it back in the eye and said, "You hit like a bitch." But if Sam was drawn and thrown into the Games, Dean didn't know what to do. He tried so hard to mask his fear. Dean's eyes trailed down to Sam hair where he noticed some of it sticking up, looking like antlers. This brought a smile to his face, a forced one, but still a smile.

"Fix your hair, little moose." Dean said, patting Sam's hair down.

Sam swatted Dean's hand away and grunted, fixing his hair himself. "I'm not a moose."

"Well you look like one." Dean commented.

"Then you look like a squirrel." Sam challenged making Dean chuckle.

"Whatever. Let's get something to eat."

Dean didn't notice it but his Dad was already cooking the leftover greens and fish for a stew that night. John decided they crack a little of it for themselves, him and Dean managed to swallow down half a bowl, but decided to save the rest for their feast, after the nerves of the day were over. It took a toll on all of them, Sam's happy mood changing like a light switch as he stared down at his half full bowl. He didn't even touch a drop and pushed the wooden cup away. Sam did manage to drink a glass of milk from Ruby, the goat being fussy about being touched but still got the milk out of her. No one really had an appetite.

At one o'clock they left their home and headed down the the square. Attendance was mandatory unless you were facing death straight in the face. In the evening the officials would make rounds around the town to ensure this was the case, if not you'd find yourself in prison. The square, surrounded by shops, was usually good spirited and had a holiday feel to it. But not on Reaping day. It looked like a court yard where prisoners were sent to face sun for only a few hours before being thrown back in their cells. Even the sky looked grey as the approached the centre of the town. You could almost see the literal dark clouds hanging over people's heads. Even though bright banners hung on the buildings there was no reason to be happy. None at all.

A camera crew had perched themselves on top of roofs to catch every angle of the day. Dean glared at them as they passed.

With more people arriving, the silence thickened. Children signed in and filed together, categorized by age. This was so that the Capitol kept a good record of who was there. The children twelve through eighteen were separated from the rest of their families by thin ropes that marked the age barrier. The youngest like Sam and Jo's sister Jess were in the back. Family members pressed into the rope while clutching each other tightly. Others who had no family, took bets on who's kid would be called up. The odds depended on age, merchant or Seam kid, if they'd cry or keep a cold face. People either cared to much or not at all. But not Dean's father. He stood off to the side, behind the worried parents, and watched with a hard face. Dean knew, he probably didn't care of Dean was chosen. Dean resented him most of his life. But if Sam was chosen, would he shed a tear? Would he cry his son's name, or make any move to show he actually cared?

The square became even more claustrophobic as the rest of the population herded in. The square couldn't fit all of District 12, which rounds to about eight thousand people. People who arrive later were tossed into adjacent streets where they watch the Reaping on television screens as it's lively recorded. Dean was trapped between a group of seventeen year old boys like himself. Most of their attention was focused on the stage and the nervous wait for Pamela Barnes to make an appearance. Waiting on the stage was three chairs, a podium and a glass ball. Both boys and girls names were dumped into one giant container for Pamela to choose. Most districts wanted two boys as tributes, a better chance for them to win. Sometimes two girls were thrown in together. This made everyone's odds that much worse. If you weren't picked the first time, who's to say you won't get picked the second. Dean stared at the glass ball nervously. Sam's name was in there. One piece of paper, one tiny slip. Twenty of them belonged to Dean Winchester, but he only cared about Sam's slip.

One piece of paper.

The three people who filled those chairs were Zachariah's father Mayor Carver Edlund, a short, lanky man with a trimmed beard and worried eyes for his son, Pamela Barnes fresh from the Capitol but her face stone cold. The third seat was empty, and everyone knew who that seat belonged to. The only victor alive in District 12. Bobby Singer.

When the clock struck two Mayor Edlund stepped up from his seat and began to read the story repeated each year at Reaping. It was the history of Panem, a place once known as North America but burned to ashes. Fire, floods, droughts, storms and other disasters destroyed the old land. That's when they became the new people. A shining Capitol surrounded by thirteen districts that brought peace and prosperity to the people. Then came the Dark Days, the uprisings of the districts that went against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated and the thirteenth destroyed. The Treaty of Treason was created and new laws guaranteed peace between them. Each year to remind them of the Dark Days and that it must never be repeated, the Hunger Games was born.

The rules were simple. Punishing the districts for their disloyalty, each of them must provide two tributes that will fight to the death in an outdoor arena. The lone survivor is claimed champion. 

In the crowd of children Dean caught Jo's eye. She was wearing something pretty. A nice pale blue dress and simple black flats. Her hair was pinned up and she stared back at him. Dean could see a few rows behind her was Jess, standing by herself, staring warily at the mayor. Sam always had a crush on Jess, and Jo would never breathe a word if she shared those feelings. It wasn't Dean's business to get involved in his brother's love life, but he was curious about it. Jo nodded at Dean who nodded back before returning their attention to the front.

"It's a time for both repentance and a time for thanks." The major concluded. He then continued on to read the list of District 12's victors. In a course of seventy-four years there were only two, the only one still alive was Bobby, the town drunk. As his name left major Edlund's lips Bobby staggered onto the stage and placed himself in the empty chair. Anyone could tell he was drunk out of his mind. The crowd reluctantly applauded at the sight of Bobby, Dean didn't even raise his hands from his side. Bobby mumbled something under his breath before taking his seat and looking towards the major. Unlike most victor's Bobby dressed in plaid and an old cap. It wasn't something anyone could find at the Hob, some people whispered that the hat had come from before Panem was created. That somehow it survived among all things. It made Dean snort.

The distressed looking Mayor Edlund knew, just like everyone else, District 12 would be an embarrassment this year. Whatever the cameras filmed was live, there was no double take or do over. He tried to take the attention off of Bobby and towards Pamela who stepped up to the podium. Putting a smile on her face Pamela tried to take control of the situation again.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!" She said, her voice echoing throughout the square. She continued talking about District 12, how she was honoured to be there that day but everyone knew she was waiting to get promoted to a better district with actual victors, not drunks who embarrassed you across the nation. Dean tried to find Jo again but lost her in the crowd, Jess too. As soon as he started looking for Sam, Pamela's voice had captured his attention again. "And now, for the first draw."

Dean's eyes flashed towards her manicured hand that dipped into the glass bowl, every child aged twelve to eighteen's names in there. Some names were repeated more times than others, chances were bad. Dean held onto his breath as she plucked a piece of paper, heading back towards the microphone as she unfolded it. He clutched his hands into fists, holding his breath as Pamela cleared her throat and read the name aloud. The name run loud and clear for everyone to hear. And it wasn't his name.

The name Pamela Barnes drew, was Sam Winchester.


	2. Chapter 2

Once, during the first few months Dean had ever hunted in the woods, he was attacked by a bear. It's sharp claws caught his shirt, tearing into his skin, barely leaving him alive. The pain he felt while running home, having to press on the wound so he wouldn't bleed out. It was unimaginable. He couldn't move, think or even breathe.

In that moment, his brother's name still ringing through the speakers, Dean felt the exact same as he did during the bear attack. He couldn't move his legs, and found himself crashing to the ground. An ache threatened to swallow him whole, a pounding developing in his chest. Some of the boys around him tried to help him up, but Dean was too numb to recognize them. The way she said it. Sam Winchester. His Sammy. His little brother. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be real. There was no way out of all those slips his brother's name could get called. One, out of hundreds. His one slip of paper is what Pamela grabbed. Finally someone managed to pull Dean up but he brushed them aside.

It couldn't be real. It wasn't. Not Sammy. He was only twelve years old. Twelve! The odds were not in his favour, not at all. But it didn't matter. 

Angry whispers ran through the people of District 12. No one liked when a twelve-year-old was chosen. It wasn't fair for them. But then again, when were things ever fair? Finally Dean looked up and his eyes met his younger brother's. Fear slapped him in the face, all the colour draining from his cheeks. Dean watched as Sam walked towards the stage, each step shaky as he walked closer. Dean couldn't stand it any longer.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, finally finding his voice. It was raspy, almost broken. He could feel his legs listening to his brain again as he pushed through the crowd. Other kids had moved out of the way, almost making a direct path between him, Sam and the stage. Sam turned around, watching Dean who walked towards him. "Sammy!" He shouted louder. Peacekeepers stepped out of the crowd, holding Dean back who shouted for his little brother. He was ready to hurt them, hurt anyone who got in the way of him getting to his brother. But there was no stopping this. He couldn't get to Sam. They'd take him away. They'd take him to the Games. Sam wouldn't last. They would break him in training, kill him in the arena. He's just a kid. He's only twelve. Dean was not going to watch his brother walk to his death. "I volunteer!" Dean yelled, shoving the Peacekeepers off of him. Everyone went silent, the faces of Mayor Edlund and Pamela twisting in surprise.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

No one volunteered. Not in the outer districts like 11 and 12. It had been too many years since anyone could remember the last volunteer. No one remembered what to do when a volunteer had announced themselves. The rules and regulations were clear, after the name is called then volunteers may take their place. At least that's what happened in places like District 1, 2 and 4, where volunteering was honourable. They trained from a young age to be killers. Entering the Games brought pride to a family. But in District 12 it was a death sentence. They always died, they'd continue to die. Volunteering was like stepping under a blade you knew was going to fall and slice your neck open.

"Oh my." Pamela breathed before shaking her head lightly. Sam ran back towards Dean, clinging onto his brother as Dean numbly hugged Sam back. He had no choice, he'd do it for his brother. "It seems we have a volunteer! But I believe there's the matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, then we, um..." Pamela trailed, unsure of what to say.

"What does it matter?" asked the Mayor. He looked towards Dean with a pained expression on his face. The mayor barely knew Dean outside their strawberry agreement. He may remember him as the young man who stood watching his mother burn while him along with other residents of District 12 tried to help put out the fire. Did he remember Dean was that boy? "What does it matter?" He repeated again, turning towards Pamela. "Let him come forward."

Sam was in hysterics, clinging onto Dean and screaming. "Sam, let go." Dean ordered, trying to look brave. This was recorded live. Now he had to take it seriously. All of Panem was watching, and they had to know he wasn't weak. He wouldn't let them see him cry. 

"Dean, no! Dean please don't!" Sam cried.

"Sam, you have to let me go." Dean repeated, hissing it under his breath. He felt a weight on his chest and his throat was getting tighter. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulders, forcing the young boy to look up at him. Dean fought back the tears as he took Sam's hand and forced him to let go. Sam looked heartbroken. But it had to be done. If Dean wanted to survive, he couldn't be weak. "Sammy, please go." Dean said. Sam had tears streaming down his face at this point, but didn't continue to scream. It was like a part of him knew. He was letting his brother go and he couldn't do anything. Screaming was pointless, Dean was going into the Hunger Games and no one could stop it. 

Dean watched as a familiar face pushed through the crowd and picked up Sam. It was Jo. "Up you go, Winchester." She said, her voice trying to remain steady but Dean could tell how scared she was. She was scared for him.

Dean steeled himself and walked up the stage, turning his back to Sam and Jo. He stood beside Pamela, facing the people of District 12 keeping his face hard and unreadable. "That was exciting!" Pamela smiled, trying to brighten the change of events. "Amazing, this is the heart of the Games! What's your name?" She asked, leaning the microphone towards his mouth.

Dean licked his lips before answering. "Dean Winchester."

Pamela looked taken aback. "My, my, I bet that was your brother, wasn't it? Guess you didn't want him stealing the glory, did you now?" She asked, turning towards the crowd. Dean wasn't sure if she was true to what she said. Pamela looked like the type of person to be compassionate. To hate the games as much as the rest of them. Did she really think this was good television? "Let's give a round of applause for Dean Winchester!" She said while clapping her hands. Not a single person in District 12 rose their hands and clapped. The entire town was silent. Dean's eyes scanned every face, his green orbs darting across everyone while trying to find his father or Sam, something to assure him that they'd be okay. It was a bold move for none of them to clap. It was like an act of defiance, small, but still an act against the Games. It was a silent agreement between them that none of them wanted this, none of them supported it. None of this was right.

Then something miraculous happened. One person, followed by two more. A group did so after, and suddenly the whole district was doing it. They took their three fingers and placed them on their lips before raising them to Dean. It was an old gesture, usually used at funerals for loved ones. It meant thanks, and farewell. It meant goodbye.

Dean sucked in a breath. Why would anyone even care about him? Outside of being a well known hunter, no one should have known his name. It was overwhelming, and Dean didn't know what to do. He was thankful as Bobby came back for another round with the cameras.

"This one." He said, slinging an arm around Dean's shoulder before looking back at the cameras. "Look at this idjit, I like this guy!" Bobby said. Dean tried not to crinkle his nose in disgust. "He's... tough!" Bobby added while pushing Dean away and heading for the front. "More than you!" He shouted, pointing at Pamela before swinging his finger towards a camera. He looked directly into it. "More than you."

It didn't take more than three seconds for Bobby to fall off the stage and knock himself unconscious. Dean used this time to look for Sam again in the crowd. It wasn't until everyone looked down that he could see them. Jo was standing with his father who held onto Sam. His younger brother clung onto John and the way his shoulders sagged, he was crying. Dean's teeth grit together. He knew in his heart he did the right thing. He protected him from the only thing he thought he couldn't. Sam would be okay. He'd live a long happy life. There wasn't a chance in hell his name would be called again. Dean made his face colder, if possible, trying to be brave for his brother. He was doing this for Sammy.

Dean could almost see it. The hills that morning, Jo's smile as the buck fled. She'd asked him to run away. And in that moment, he realized, he'd regretted that very decision. If only Dean could go back and change it, he would have left with her, brought Sam and his father, and escaped the district. Escaped the nightmare.

While a few Peacekeepers dragged Bobby away Pamela took control of the microphone again and captured everyone's attention. Dean tried not to notice how good she was at that. "Very exciting." She coughed, trying to ignore Bobby's mumblings as he was taken into the Justice Building. "And now, we move on to our final tribute." Pamela said, walking towards the ball again and sticking her hand in. Now Dean got nervous. Jo's name, Jess' name. If either of them went in with him to the Games, his fate was sealed. He could never return home knowing he let one of them die. Dean prayed, if there was a God he'd listen just once. Don't pick any of the Harvelle's.

You've doomed my family, don't punish theirs. He thought.

After choosing a slip Pamela went back towards the microphone and read the second name aloud. She stood with a straight back, her eyes focused on the black letters on the white strip. Dean was tempted to cross his fingers. "Castiel Novak."

Oh God. Dean thought. Not him. Him of all people.

That name. Castiel Novak. He'd recognized it immediately. Dean tried to curse but bit his tongue so no one heard. Of course it had to be him. Dean watched as Castiel made his way towards the stage. Instantly he'd known that bed of black messy hair, the deep blue eyes. Castiel had kept his composure, his face straight. He didn't even think to shed a tear but Dean could tell by staring into his eyes. He looked sad. He looked lost, scared and helpless, but he masked it so well.

Pamela asked for volunteers, expecting to find someone else try and take Castiel's place. But no one spoke a word. Dean knew, Castiel had a few brothers. He didn't remember how many, but knew that they were either too old to volunteer or too cowardly. He knew family devotion only went so far for some people. No volunteers was standard.

Mayor Edlund then continued to give his long speech but Dean was too occupied to listen. He tried not to stare at Castiel, but he was so focused on his presence. Out of all people, why was Castiel Novak called? Dean knew he shouldn't care. Him and Castiel weren't friends. They never spoke. Only once in his life did he ever have interaction with Castiel, and that was so many years ago the boy standing beside him probably didn't even remember what happened. But Dean did.

It had to have been during the worst parts of Dean's life. It'd been a few weeks after his father snapped. John was drinking himself to sleep every night, waking up early to grab another bottle before starting the process all over again. He was always angry. Mostly he was angry at Dean. Dean made sure that he protected Sam from their father's wrath. His father's perfect little soldier turned against him. He fought John on a constant basis, screaming and yelling at each other 'till their faces were red. Dean could remember it all. "Sammy, go to your room, don't come out." He'd said when his father would smash the glass and wave it around. John quit his job in the mines, almost bankrupt them because of the amount of alcohol he purchased daily. Sam had begged his father, begged him, to stop it. But John was too drunk to hear.

Dean had a new job, one his father didn't order him to do. He'd protect Sam. That was his job. Dean became colder, having to put all that weight on himself. He got just as angry as his father did in his drunken stupor. He was furious and terrified at the same time. He'd been protecting Sam since he was only six months old, but now he was raising his little brother. Dean put food on the table, Dean paid the Peacekeepers so they could continue living in their house, Dean helped Sam with his homework while he was failing in school. The pressure, the responsibility, it made him... explode. Dean didn't know how to handle it. So he went hunting, something that scared him half to death. He'd never been in the woods ever in his life, always staying behind the protection of the fence. But there was nothing in District 12 that could save him. He'd heard whispers of people brave enough to enter the forest, and he decided after grabbing one of his father's knives, that he had to be another brave soul risking his life to find food.

Dean had only been in the forest a week, and was still scared. He'd caught a few squirrels and rabbits, throwing his knife as hard as he could towards the small creatures and piercing their bodies. It did cut down the amount of meat they could eat, but it was still food. He brought enough home to make sure his father and brother along with himself didn't starve.

But sometimes that wasn't enough. Dean was out in the woods when he climbed up a tree, trying to get a better angle at a giant turkey he'd seen just a little ways away. It was a prize. He'd brought the knife up and aimed just as the rain started. Dean thought nothing of it, and neither did the bird. But as he was about to let it fly lightning struck the trunk of the tree and it caught on fire. Dean was too far up and had to climb branches as fast as he could as the flames licked up towards him. He was still fifteen feet in the air by the time he met the fire and had to jump. Dean was surprised he didn't break his legs. The result of his jump and climb was nasty cuts on his hands, arms, his side was badly bruised and he could barely feel his ankles. Dean had to stumble back towards the town, the Seam far and the rain coming down heavy. His clothes were soaking, the pain was excruciating, and Sam would go hungry again.

Dean decided to rest under the protection of a tree, which just so happened to be in front of the town church. He almost laughed at himself as he starred at the bell tower above, the cross hanging right below. 

God, he thought. There was no God.

His mother used to tell him angels were watching over him. And then she died. What kind of angels would tare his family apart? Why would they let this happen? They weren't looking out for him then, and still weren't looking out for him now.

Dean noted how the bells weren't ringing even though there should have been a mass. Chuck Novak was the Father in the district. His family was the head of the church, and most of them were far from nice to the people of the Seam. Father Novak's kids were good to those from the merchant's class, having attended school with their children and being their friends. But people like Dean and Jo, Seam kids, poor kids, they barely gave them a second glance. 

Dean stared at the bell until suddenly he noticed the side door open. His hand that clutched his aching side twitched as he watched the youngest Novak come out into the rain with a bag in hand that he ran to the garbage out front. It was Castiel. He'd recognized him from school, the two of them never even talking to each other before. As Castiel turned to go back inside his eyes met Dean's. The deep blue. From the distance he couldn't see it, but it wasn't until Castiel ran back into the church and then outside again did Dean notice his eyes. Castiel had crouched in front of Dean with something in his hand. When Dean looked down he saw the loaf of bread Castiel was holding. He never said a word as he placed it in Dean's shaking hands. He ran back into the church and closed the door, ending the only interaction they ever had.

Dean swallowed the pain like a pill, pulling himself together and running home while tucking the bread into his jacket. He tried to keep it dry, keep the blood off of it, as he ran like a bat out of Hell. This was dinner, this was something for Sam. The run back to the Seam was painful, but not as painful as the walk towards the church. Dean kicked the front door open and was welcomed with the warm fire and Sam rushing towards him. As Dean set the bread on the table Sam ran for the small amount of medicine they had. His father was passed out in the chair, which was why Sam was free to roam around their home. Dean cut the bread in half, saving some of his portion for their father for when he woke up. He didn't want to, but if he didn't Sam would, and his little brother had to eat. Dean never got to thank Castiel for the food that gave him a sort of hope. He continued fighting.

The next day at school Dean saw Castiel when everyone abandoned the building and ran home. It was only for a few moments, and Castiel never caught his eye but hurried in the direction of the church right away. Dean always thought he was different, strange just like his brothers. But Dean headed back into the woods, unafraid of anything that would stand in his way. The courage gave him the energy to trek all throughout the forest, exploring places he'd never been. And he went back after that, again and again.

The mayor finished his speech and it wasn't until then Dean had realized him and Castiel had been staring at each other. Castiel looked away quickly and Dean did as well. Dean wanted to thank Castiel. It was because of him Sam was alive and breathing, the reason Dean found a way to keep fighting. But at a time like this, the thank you would mean nothing. The two of them were about to be sent into an arena to kill each other along with other kids their age and younger. How could Dean bring up the memory of all those years ago? While training? While being interviewed? Or standing on the podiums waiting for the clock to finish counting down and allowing them to run free into the Hunger Games?

The mayor's speech ended and Dean shook Castiel's hand. Castiel's grasp was firm, their eyes meeting again before the two of them were shoved into the Justice building, being sealed away from the district and their families. The anthem played in the background as Dean's hard face was the last thing the cameras caught before being turned off. Dean and Castiel were taken to separate rooms, doors locked and Peacekeepers standing on the outside so the two of them can't run away. Dean's eyes wandered around the room, one of the richest places he'd ever laid his eyes on. Dean recognized the feeling of velvet between his fingers as he brushed them over the couch. His father had a jacket made of velvet, a grieving gift from one of the other families in the Seam. Dean took a seat on the red cushions, his eyes continuing to wander the ceiling.

It helped him hold back tears. Dean refused to cry. He didn't cry when his mother passed. He didn't cry when his father repeatedly beat him in a drunken state. He didn't even cry the day he fell out of the tree and Castiel saved him. It was like tears weren't built into Dean. Going to the Capitol was an even bigger reason not to cry. He couldn't be seen as weak. If he wanted to survive he had to be considered strong, brave, ruthless. That's what the people would see him as. Not a weak outer district boy. A fighter.

The first people to burst through the door were Sam and John. Dean immediately stood from his spot, embracing his younger brother who ran into his waiting arms and buried his face in his chest. Sam had red streaks running down his face, his nose running slightly. John stood a bit away, his face cold but almost vulnerable. Maybe he did care that Dean was leaving. For a few minutes the room was filled with silence. But then Dean knew there was things he needed to say before he left. So he started talking to Sam, ordering him to remember everything he said. Dean told him not to take any tesserae, it wasn't worth putting his name in the reaping any more times than necessary. If they were smart they could get by on selling Sam's goat milk and cheese. John could start going back to the mines again, he would have to so he could support Sam. Dean wouldn't be around to do so anymore, and as he said this, he looked his father in the eye. John turned away. Jo would still be there to get herbs that Sam couldn't grow himself, but he had to carefully describe them because Jo wasn't as familiar with the plants as Dean had been. Also Jo wouldn't stop bringing them game - the two of them made a pact about that two years ago - and probably wouldn't ask for anything in return. But Sam would still thank her and give her something in exchange like milk or herbs.

Dean left out the option of Sam learning how to hunt. He tried to teach Sam to do it years ago. He was good, almost as good as his brother. But he didn't want to hunt, he cared more about the injustice going on in District 12 then putting food on the table. He'd ramble on to Dean and scare game away. Dean banned Sam from going anywhere near the woods, he was dinner repellent. So Dean focused on the goat and herbs. After he finished explaining everything Sam would need to know about fuel, trading and doing good in school so Sam could make a difference in the district, Dean turned his attention to John. He let Sam go and grabbed his father's arm. "Listen to me. Are you listening?" Dean demanded. John nodded, surprised at the growl in his tone. "You can't leave again."

John looked away. "I know. I won't. I couldn't-" 

"Well, it's time to man." Dean said. "You can't clock out and leave him to defend himself. There ain't no me anymore to keep you both fed and alive. It doesn't matter what you see, it doesn't matter what happens. You'll make me a promise today, and you'll follow through it no matter what. Promise me you will fight through whatever bullshit you feel! Promise me Sam will be fine, that you'll finally be the father Sam deserves! It's not my job anymore, it's yours!"

He yanked his arm away from Dean, his face turning angry again. Dean recognized it instantly. "You couldn't begin to understand what I was feeling. We couldn't afford the medicine we can now. If we'd had that back then I woulda been fine."

And part of it was true. Dean would go over to the Harvelle house after a long day of hunting and watch the type of people Ellen would help. They were completely changed because of sadness, a sickness that affected the body and mind because of one emotion. Perhaps it was a sickness, but Dean knew he couldn't afford for John to fall back into that again.

"Then take it. And take care of him!" Dean said.

"I'll be fine, Dean." Sam said, taking his brother's hand. Dean looked down at Sam. "But you have to take care of yourself too, out there. You're fast and smart. Maybe you can win."

Dean couldn't win. Sammy must have known that somehow, the false hope clouding his judgement. The Games were far beyond what Dean could do. Kids from the wealthier districts were trained from such a young age to kill, he only knew how to hunt animals. He couldn't compare to them. Dean may have tried to convince himself that he could be ruthless and fight too, but these kid's heads had been filled with murder and honour by their parents. The Games for them were just games. Boys his age were three times larger then him. The girls, possibly even younger than Dean, knew twenty different ways to skin the flesh off his bones with just the right knife. There would be others like him. Those who would probably be killed before him only because they were less exposed to survival tactics and weapons training then he was.

"Maybe." Dean said. How would he convince John to carry on when he could barely do it himself, and admit it to his brother? Besides, it was in his blood to survive. Dean wouldn't go down so easily, he'd go out swinging. Even in the darkest times, he'd make it. He'd have to try. "Then we'd be as rich as Bobby."

"I don't care if we're rich. I just want you to come home. You'll try, right? Really try?" Sam asked.

Before Dean could answers the Peacekeepers came through the door, signalling the time was up. Dean hugged both Sam and his father so tightly it hurt and all he could say was he loved him. He even told John who he was surprised nodded in response. It was enough to let Dean know his father did care. Once the doors closed behind them Dean buried his face in his hands as he sunk back down on the couch. Before he could even let out a breath the next guest had walked in. Dean lifted his head in surprise to see Zachariah standing in the door, walking towards him. Dean stood, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion as the two of them met in the centre of the room. Why in the world was Zachariah there? They weren't friends.

"They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. Something to remind you of home. Would you wear this?" Zachariah said. In his hand he held out the pin Dean noted was the same one from the morning. It was a sword, a long shining blade with a gem sticking out of the hilt and angel wings on either side.

"Your pin?" Dean asked. He couldn't care less about a stupid token.

"Here." Zachariah said, handing it over to him. Dean held it in his hand. "It's called the Michael Sword. It's what he used to slay the devil, so I guess you could see it as the weapon to defeat your enemies." Zachariah explained. "We aren't friends, I know that. But I told you before, I wouldn't head into the Capitol looking like a slob. Well, I don't want you looking like one, so you better wear something nice while representing 12."

Dean nodded at that, securing the pin onto his chest before shaking Zachariah's hand. The mayor's son left the room, and Dean considered that maybe, maybe they could be friends. Under these circumstances Dean was most likely never to see Zachariah again, so it didn't matter. The last person to come in was Jo and there may not have been anything romantic going on between her and Dean but she never hesitated to walk into his arms and hold him tightly like a woman waiting for her husband to return from war. Dean buried his face in her hair, the familiar scent of pine and wood smoke filling his nose. He'd recognized her body crushing against his, the two of them being close on occasion due to hiding up in a tree or sheltering against each other during the colder months out in the woods. But Dean knew this was different.

"Listen." Jo said, pulling away so she could look at him. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you have to learn how to fight with something else, Dean. Maybe an axe, you know how good you are with one of those. Or maybe teach yourself how to fight with a sword."

"Even if I can learn to fight with them there's no guarantee they'll be in the arena." Dean replied, thinking of the year there were only spiked maces that the tributes had to use to bludgeon each other to death. It was one of the worst years.

"One of three will be there, Dean." Jo said. "Any weapon is better than nothing."

"Yeah, I know." Dean nodded.

"Dean, it's just hunting. You're the best hunter I know." Said Jo, determination in her eyes.

"It's not just hunting, Jo. They're armed, they think." Dean tried to reason.

"So do you. And you've had more practice. Real practice," She said. "You know how to kill."

"Not people." Dean argued.

"How different can it be, really?" Jo said grimly. The most awful thing Dean could do was to kill and forget they were human, people just like them. He couldn't cross that line, it wasn't something he thought he could come back from. Dean didn't say anything so Jo just cupped his face and brought him down to her height. She kissed his forehead and smiled at Dean. He placed his hand on top of hers and smiled back lightly. This is who they were, who they always would be.

Before they knew it the Peacekeepers had come back in and Jo asked for more time but they couldn't give it. They had to drag her away kicking in screaming. It made Dean panic. "Don't let them starve!" Dean shouted, trying to grasp Jo's hand but she was pulled away from him.

"I won't! You know I won't! Dean, remember I -" she began but they slammed the door shut between them. And Dean would never know what Jo wanted him to remember.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean saw a blur of faces while passing from the Justice Building to the train station. This was the first time he'd ever been in a car since the only way to travel through the Seam was on foot. Dean watched the reporters crowd around the vehicle and was glad he could wipe all the emotion from his face. He saw on a small television screen on the wall that's airing his and Castiel's arrival to the train. His face was almost bored. Castiel on the other hand looked like he'd cried and poorly attempted to wipe the tears from his face. Maybe this was his strategy, Dean wondered while they were ushered onto the train. Castiel could appear to be weak and frightened so that other tributes didn't see him as competition. This was a strategy for one girl, Bela Talbot, from District 7 a few years prior. She portrayed herself as cowardly so no one bothered about her until the pool of tributes was no more than a handful. Bela turned out to be a ruthless predator and slaughtered her way to victory. She was smart and played it well.

This would be a good strategy for Castiel Novak, being the Father's son. He was lanky even though he had a lot to eat. Then again he wore layers of clothing so no one could really tell if he was small or actually did have muscles. He'd preached about peace at school and such, so he wasn't pro violence. But there was just something about Castiel that would take an awful lot of weeping to convince anyone to overlook him.

When the train door closed behind them it immediately took off from the station and away from District 12. It took Dean's breath away. Of course he'd never been on a train before either, and travelling between districts was forbidden except for official sanctioned duties. In District 12 it was the transportation of coal. But this wasn't the coal train Dean was used to seeing. It was a high-tech Capitol model, traveling 250 miles an hour. It would take them less than a day to reach the Capitol.

Dean was taught in school the Capitol was built in a place once known as the Rockies. District 12 was located in the region once known as Appalachia. Even before the Dark Days and the war, they mined in the area. It was also why the miners had to dig so deep. Most of the lessons in school always came back to the topic of coal. Besides math and reading most of the instruction was coal related. Other than the weekly lecture about the history of Panem. Most of the time they were taught of how grateful they should be to the Capitol. Dean knew there was always more to what the teachers were saying, something more to the rebellion. But he barely spent any time thinking about it. Whatever the truth was wasn't going to help him get food on the table. It wasn't going to help him survive.

When they entered another cart, Pamela explained to them the train and where to find things. Both him and Castiel had their private bedrooms with a dressing area and private bathroom with hot and cold running water. Dean recalled the bath he had that morning which was pretty cool. If they wanted hot water, they had to boil it.

Pamela lead Dean towards his room after showing Castiel his. Dean entered as Pamela continued to explain how the drawers were filled with clothes he could wear, anything he wanted, at the tips of his fingers. Dean had all the time alone to himself, but he had to be ready for dinner in one hour back in the dining cart. She shut the door behind herself and left Dean alone with his thoughts. Immediately he peeled out of his father's top and his pants before jumping into the hot shower. It was amazing, never having taken a shower before. It was like standing in a rain storm, except the water was a bit warmer.

Dean stayed in there for God knows how long before stepping out and dressing in a plaid shirt and dark blue jeans. Before he left the cart Dean remembered Zachariah's pin and decided to grab it. While taking the small golden thing in his hand he finally looked at it. What he thought he saw was correct. The angel wings and sword, the gem in the middle. This is what Zachariah wanted him to wear? A stupid little pin that meant, what exactly? The Michael Sword, that's what it was. Zachariah had spent too much time in church to believe that an angel would use a sword to kill the devil. Dean wouldn't be going to kill the devil in the Games. He'd be killing kids like himself, kids who just wanted to go home.

Angels, Dean couldn't believe in angels. Dean could remember his mother's words, even though he was only four years old when she died.

Angels are watching over you, Dean.

She'd used to say this after singing him a lullaby. Right on the brink of sleep he'd hear her whisper this in his ear. Mary had believed in them. She made sure the whole family went to church every Sunday to pray, to show their faith. Dean knew his mother always sung with the choir instead of just mumbling or humming the words like most people did. Mary loved to sing, especially for Dean. She'd sing him her favourite song every night, a song passed on through her family for years. Whenever she sung, it got so quiet. Dean could swear the wind would stop howling just to hear her. Her voice was beautiful, high and clear, and so full of life it made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. Dean couldn't sing, and he knew it. He never tried to sing, not even to Sam, but he remembered the lyrics. He remembered the tune. It was a piece of his mother that he always had with him.

He fastened the pin onto the dark green fabric before heading towards the door. Before he could take a step out Pamela was mid knock and surprised to see him ready. "Well, you certainly clean up nice." She smirked. Dean kept his face straight. "Come on, time for dinner."

Dean followed behind Pamela towards the cart with polished panel walls. There was a table with all kinds of dishes that were very expensive and very breakable. Castiel Novak was already seated at the table waiting for the rest of us to join them, the chair next to him was empty. Dean decided to occupy the seat across from him and placed himself down, his eyes trailing over to Pamela who looked around the dining cart. "Where's Bobby?" Pamela asked, her eyes flickering over to the door as if she expected the old mentor to come stumbling in.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap." Castiel answered.

Pamela made a small noise to tell Castiel she acknowledged his answer. Dean could tell she was both relieved and irritated that Bobby was no where to be found. Who could blame Pamela?

The supper comes around in courses. Dean grabbed at everything, wanting to try all the different colourful foods. The taste was out of the world even though some dishes were simple. First round was a thick carrot soup with a green salad, followed by lamb chops and mashed potatoes. Cheese and fruit followed along with a chocolate cake made up desert. During the whole meal Pamela Barnes had to keep remind Castiel and Dean that there was more food coming and that they should slow down. But Dean kept stuffing himself because he'd never had food like it before. It was so good, and there was so much, and it was probably a good idea to put on a few pounds before he went into the games.

"At least you two have decent manners." Pamela said whole popping a grape in her mouth while they finished the main course. "Last year the two kept eating everything with their hands."

The pair of kids were from the Seam last year who had never, not once, had a decent meal. Hell, they barely had any food to eat. And during that slight moment when they probably had just enough to scrape by, manners weren't the first priority. Castiel is the Father's, son. When Dean took Sam over to the Harvelle's on nights they couldn't stand to be home with their father, Ellen taught them to eat properly so they could handle a fork and knife. The comment Pamela made rubbed Dean the wrong way. Before he could slam his fork down on the table, Pamela continued.

"Couldn't blame them. I've seen what the districts look like outside the square. Hell, just so they didn't feel bad I ate with my fingers too. Much faster than with that tiny damned fork." Pamela said, winking at Dean. This made Dean smirk as he leaned back in his seat.

When the meal was over Dean could barely keep the food down. He noted how green Castiel also looked. Both boys didn't have stomachs used to the rich food. But if Dean could hold down Rufus' concotion of mice meat, pig entrails and tree bark - a winter specialty - he was determined to hang onto this.

Pamela lead the two tributes towards the other compartment to watch the recap of the Reapings across the Districts. All Reapings are staggered throughout the day so that a person could watch the entire thing live, but only people living in the Capitol were able to do so since they never had to attend any of the Reapings themselves. Dean watched all the Reapings closely as each passed by on the screen. One by one the names were called, the volunteers stepping forward or, more often, not, Dean examined the faces of the kids who would be his competition.

A few stood out to him.

A monstrous boy lunged forward to volunteer from District 2. A small baby-faced girl with jet black hair from District 5. A boy with a crippled foot from District 10. And the worst of it all, a twelve-year-old boy from District 11. He had dark green eyes and pale skin, but other than that he was very like Sam's size and demeanor. Only when he mounted the stage and they asked for volunteers was when Dean could hear nothing but the whistling wind around the district. There was no one willing to take his place.

Finally they showed District 12. Sam being called and Dean running forward to volunteer and take his place. You couldn't miss the desperation clear in his voice as he pushed Sam behind him and Jo took the younger Winchester away. You could see Jo trying to tare Sam away from Dean, the young boy screaming for his brother, but at this point Dean had masked all emotion from his face as he knew he should. The commentators aren't sure of what to say about the crowd's refusal to applaud and the silent salute. One of them comments that District 12 has always been a bit backwards but the local customs were charming. And then as if cued, Bobby fell off the stage, and they groan. Castiel's name was drawn and he quietly took his place beside Dean. The two of them shook hands. Finally the television cut to the anthem and the program concluded.

Pamela Barnes snorted as Bobby fell off the stage and crossed her arms over her chest. "That mentor of yours has a lot to learn about presentation if he's going to get you sponsors."

Castiel unexpectedly laughed. "He was drunk," said Castiel. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," Dean added with a little smirk. "Twice on Sundays."

Dean had to agree with Pamela on the matter, however. Bobby was their only ticket to sponsors and he couldn't do that drunk. Probably couldn't do it sober either.

He was surprised to see Pamela's eyes turn to slits. "Yeah." She hissed. "How strange you two find it amusing. He is the only lifeline you have in the Games. He's the only person to give you advice, supplies from sponsers and dictates the gifts they pay for. Bobby can well be the difference between your life and death in there!"

And then Bobby staggered into the compartment. "I miss supper?" He asked in a slurred voice. He then vomited all over the expensive carpet and fell into the mess.

"So laugh away!" said Pamela Barnes. She stood from her spot and dodged the pool of vomit surrounding Bobby before fleeing from the room.

For a few moments, Castiel and Dean take in the scene of their mentor trying to rise out of the slippery vile. The reek of vomit and raw spirits almost made Dean's dinner make a reappearance. The two young boys exchanged a glance. Obviously Bobby isn't much, but Pamela Barnes was right about one thing, once they were in the arena he's all they've got. As if by some sort of unspoken agreement both Dean and Castiel take one of Bobby's arms and help him to his feet.

"I tripped?" Bobby asked. "Smells bad." He added while wiping his hand on his nose, smearing his face with vomit.

"Let's get you back to your room," said Castiel. "Clean you up a bit."

Dean and Castiel half-lead half-carried Bobby back to his compartment. Since they couldn't exactly set him down on the bedspread without covering it in his throw up, they hauled him into the bathtub and turned the shower on him. He hardly noticed.

"It's okay," Castiel said to Dean. "I'll take it from here."

Dean felt a little grateful towards the blue eyed boy since the last thing he wanted to do was strip down Bobby, wash the vomit out of his chest hair, and tuck him into bed. Possibly Castiel was trying to make a good impression on him, to be his favourite once the Games began. But judging by the state he's in, Bobby won't have any sort of recollection of this tomorrow.

"Alright." Dean said. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

There were countless of them on the train. They cooked for Dean and Castiel. Waited on them. Guarded them. Taking care of the two tributes was their job.

"No. I don't want them," said Castiel.

Dean nodded and went towards his own room. He could understand how Castiel felt about the Capitol people, Dean couldn't stand the sight of them himself. But making them deal with Bobby might be a small form of revenge. So Dean pondered the reason why he insisted on taking care of Haymitch and all of a sudden it hit him. It's because Castiel was just being kind. Just as he was kind to give Dean the bread.

The idea stopped Dean in his tracks. A kind Castiel Novak was far more dangerous to him than an unkind one. Kind people had a way of working their way inside him and rooting there. And he wasn't about to allow Castiel to do that. Not where the two of them were headed. So in that moment Dean decided one thing, he was going to have as little to do with the Father's son as possible.

When Dean finally returned to his room the train had paused at a platform to refuel. He opened the window, needing fresh air, something to clear his mind. Everything just seemed to be piling up at once. It all was. The weight of the games was crushing him. The thought of killing... Dean tried not to think about it. He looked up at the night sky and sighed. That sky, the same dotted stars reminded him of the night after Castiel gave him the bread. Him and Sam headed out to the Meadow the next day after school. Dean remembered how his mother used to take him out to the meadow and play, so he thought maybe Sam would need a distraction. As soon as they got there they found dandelions. So many of them it was mouth watering. They picked as many as their arms could carry and rushed home. After throwing them together Sam and Dean gorged themselves on dandelion salad and the rest of the bread.

"What else?" Sam had asked Dean. "What other food can we find?"

"All kinds of things," Dean promised him. "I just have to remember them."

Dean's mother had a book made of old parchment and covered with ink drawings of plants. Neat handwritten blocks told their names and where to gather them, when they came in bloom. Before she had married John and moved to the Seam she worked in the apothecary along side Ellen. Her father was a blacksmith and they'd come from the upper class side of the district. But she gave it all up, the life and minimal amount of luxury, to be with John. That book was the recordings of everything she'd learned while working with the Harvelle's. There were plants for eating, not healing. Dandelions, pokeweed, wild onions, pines.

Dean found it buried in the back of his closet. Yet another piece saved from the fire. Him and Sam spent the rest of the night pouring over the pages. The next day after school was when Dean hung around the edges of the Meadow. It was that day he finally worked up the courage to venture under the fence alone and into the woods without any sort of weapons to protect him except for the kitchen knife he'd taken before leaving for school. If Dean had to guess he would probably say he didn't go more than twenty yards deep into the woods that day. Most of the time he was perched up in the branches of an old tree, waiting for game to wander by. After several hours he managed to throw the knife three times at three different targets. The only thing he managed to kill was a rabbit.

He'd practiced throwing knives before at home. He'd perch old cans on top of the windowsill that faced out towards the Seam. At only seven years old he started throwing knives and hit every target. But in the woods these targets were smaller, moving, and living creatures.

They hadn't had meat ever since John had lost his mind. The sight of the rabbit seemed to stir something inside their father. He roused himself, skinned the carcass, and made a stew with the meat and some more greens Sam had gathered. Then he acted confused and went back to his bed, but when the stew was done Dean made sure that John had eaten a bowl.

The woods then became their saviour. Each and every day Dean would venture deeper into its arms. It was slow-going at first, but he was determined to feed his family. He stole eggs from nests, caught fish in nets, sometimes managed to kill a squirrel or rabbit for stew, and gathered various plants that spring beneath his feet. Plants were the tricky part of it. Many were edible but with one false mouthful they'd fall dead in seconds. Dean would check and double-check the plants he had harvested in the book to make sure. He kept them alive.

If there was any hint of danger, a distant howl or the unexpected break of a branch, he went flying back towards the fence. This was during the first month. After that Dean dared to climb trees to escape the wold dogs that quickly got bored and moved on. Bears and cats lived deeper in, perhaps disliking the sooty reek of District 12.

On May 8th, just six days after Sam's birthday, Dean strode up to the Justice Building and signed up for his tessarae before pulling home his first batch of grain and oil in Sam's toy wagon. On the eighth of every month he was enlisted to do the same. He never stopped hunting and gathering, of course. The grain wasn't enough to live on, and there were other things they needed to buy such as soap, milk and thread. What they didn't have to eat they began trading at the Hob. It was frightening to enter that place all alone with no experience in trading with other people. He wasn't sure if he was getting ripped off or actually managing to strike a deal. Despite desperate times people respected the young 12 year old and traded fairly. Game was game after all, no matter who killed it. Dean also sold at the back doors of the wealthier clients in town, taking note of a few tricks as the years had passed by. The butcher would buy the rabbits but not the squirrels. The baker enjoyed squirrel but would only trade for one if his wife wasn't around. The Head Peacekeeper loved wild turkey. The mayor had a passion for strawberries.

In the late summer when Dean was washing up in a pond he noticed small plants growing around him. They were tall with leaves like arrowheads. Blossoms with three white petals. He knelt down in the water, his fingers digging into the soft mud before pulling up handfuls of roots. Small, bluish tubers that didn't look like much but boiled or baked they were as good as any potato.

"Katniss," Dean said aloud.

Dean remembered the plant in the book. They were edible. He spent hours stirring up the pond bed with his toes and a stick, gathering the tubers that floated to the top. That night Dean, Sam and John feasted on fish and katniss roots until they were all, for the first time in months, full.

Slowly, John returned to Sam and Dean. He began to clean and cook and preserve some of the food Dean brought in for winter. One day Dean could swear he heard John singing the lullaby Mary used to sing to him. Sam was thrilled to have his father back, but Dean kept watching, waiting for him to disappear again. Dean didn't trust John. And some small part inside him hated John for his weakness, neglect, for the months he put them through. Sam forgave him but Dean took a step back from John and put up a wall to protect himself from needing his father, and nothing was ever the same between them ever again.

And now, Dean was going to die without that ever being set right. Dean thought of how he yelled at John in the Justice Building. He never told him he loved him. Dean didn't think he could handle those words coming from his mouth.

For a while he stared out the train window until it finally took off and he had to close it. Dean wished he could just open it one more time, but he was unsure of what would happen at such a high speed. In the distance, Dean could see the lights of another district. 7? 10? He wasn't sure. He thought at about this time, people would be settling in for bed. He pictured his own home, with its shutters drawn tight. What were they doing now, John and Sammy? Were they able to eat supper? The fish stew and the strawberries? Or did it lay untouched on their plates? Did they watch the recap of the day's events on the battered old TV that sat on the table against the wall? Surely there were more tears, but not from John. Was he holding it together for Sam? Or had he already started to slip away, leaving the weight of the world on Dean's little brother?

There was no doubt in his mind that Sam would sleep with Bones. The thought of the old dog posting himself to watch over Sam somewhat comforted Dean. If he cried, Bones would nose his way deeper into Sam's side and curl up there until he calmed down and fell asleep. Dean was now glad he didn't throw the dog out.

Imagining home made Dean ache with loneliness. The day was endless. Could Jo and him be eating blackberries only that morning? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Like a dream that got deteriorated into a nightmare. Maybe if he went to sleep Dean would wake up back in District 12 where he belonged and everything would be over. He wouldn't be on his way to certain death.

Probably the drawers held any number of sleeping clothes, but Dean just stripped out of his shirt and pants and climbed into the bed in nothing but his underwear. The sheets were made of soft, silky fabric. A thick fluffy comforter that immediately gave him warmth.

Dean continued to tell himself that he wouldn't cry. He refused to do it. No tears came, even if he wanted them too. He was too tired or too numb to cry. Or maybe just too damn stubborn. So he let the train rock him into oblivion.


	4. Chapter 4

Grey light leaked through the curtains when the rapping tore Dean from his slumber. He could hear Pamela Barnes' voice calling for him to get up. "Get up Winchester! Big day today and you're not sleeping it all away!" She shouted. Dean tried to imagine what it must have been like to be inside her head. What thoughts filled her waking hours and what sort of dreams came to her at night? He had no clue.

Dean dressed himself in the same outfit he had on yesterday after changing out of his Reaping clothes since it wasn't really dirty, just slightly crumpled from spending the night sprawled across the floor. Dean's finger traced over the circle around the angel wings and thought of back home to District 12 and to his father and Sam waking up, having to get on with things. He tried not to get sad thinking of his little brother. Dean would get Sam ready for school, much to the younger brother's protests, and get him to class. He'd walk him home before heading out to the woods, come home and help Sam make dinner. He did everything with Sammy, and now Sam was all alone.

Dean shook his head, his hair no longer damp from the shower he took the previous day. His hair probably stuck up the usual way it naturally went. It didn't matter, they probably weren't that far from the Capitol. And once they reached the city, the stylists would dictate how he looked for the opening ceremonies that night anyway. Dean just hoped he wouldn't get one who thought that nudity was the last word in fashion.

As he entered the dining cart, Pamela Barnes brushed by Dean with a cup of black coffee. She muttered obscenities under her breath. Bobby, his face puffy and red from the previous day's indulgences, was chuckling. Castiel held a roll and looked somewhat embarrassed.

"Sit down! Sit down!" said Bobby, waving Dean over. The moment Dean sat down in his chair a giant plate of food was placed in front of him. Eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes. A tureen of fruits sat in ice to keep it chilled. The basket of rolls they set in front of him could have kept his family going for a week. Also there was an elegant glass of orange juice just out of reach. At least he assumed it was orange juice. Only once in his life did he taste the sweet and sourish drink. It was during new years spent with the Harvelles. John was going to join them but bailed last minute and offered the juice as a gift. This was just before he closed in on himself. A cup of coffee. That was something Dean treasured, which they could almost never afford. Dean preferred it as black as night, the bitter taste satisfying. Dean's eyes caught another cup of something he'd never seen before.

"They call it hot chocolate," said Castiel. "It's good."

Dean took a sip of the hot, sweet, creamy liquid and a shudder ran through him. It was way too sweet. He'd prefer some of the black coffee they must have had in one of the damn pots all over the table. Castiel noted Dean's distaste and reached for another pot. He switched out Dean's mug for another empty one and poured the dark brew. Dean watched with wide eyes as Castiel slid it over to him. Dean took the mug and nodded a thanks at Castiel before beginning to drink. Dean finished the mug of coffee before starting eating everything he could get his hands on. He tried not to overdo himself on the richer foods so he could keep everything down. He could remember when John commented on how Dean ate like he'd never see food again. Dean replied, "I won't unless I bring it home." That shut John up.

When Dean's stomach finally felt like it was going to burst, he sat back in his seat and finally addressed his breakfast companions. Castiel was still eating, breaking off bits of roll and dipping them in hot chocolate. Bobby wasn't paying much attention to his platter, but knocking back a glass of red juice that kept getting thinner with a clear liquid from a bottle. Judging by the fumes, Dean concluded it was some sort of spirit. He didn't know Bobby personally, only seeing him a few times at the Hob tossing handfuls of money on the counter towards the woman selling the white liquor. It was most likely Bobby would be incoherent by the time they reached the Capitol.

At that moment Dean realized he didn't like Bobby that much. Not as much as he despised his own father, but still, he didn't really care for the old drunk who sat in front of him. It was no wonder District 12 tributes never stood a chance. It wasn't just because of being underfed or the lack of training. Some of the tributes may have still been strong enough to make a go if it. But rarely they ever got sponsors and Bobby was the reason why. The rich people who back tributes - either because they're betting on them or simply because the bragging rights of picking a winner - expect someone classier than Bobby to deal with.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," Dean said to Bobby.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive," said Bobby, and then the old man burst out in laughter. Dean exchanged a look with Castiel before he remembered he's supposed to have nothing to do with him. He was surprised to see the hardness in his eyes. Castiel generally seemed mild.

"That's very funny," said Castiel. Suddenly he lashed out at the glass in Haymitch's hand. It shattered on the floor, sending the blood red liquid running toward the back of the train. "Only, not to us."

Bobby considered this for only a moment before striking Castiel in the jaw, knocking him from his chair. When he turned back to reach for the spirits Dean took his knife and drove it into the table between his hand and the bottle, barely missing Bobby's fingers. Dean braced himself to deflect Bobby's hit, but it didn't come. Instead he sat back and squinted at the two young tributes.

"Well, what's this?" said Bobby. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

Castiel rose from the floor and scooped up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen. Before he could raise it to the red mark on his jaw Bobby stopped him.

"No," said Bobby. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," said Castiel.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," said Bobby. He turned to Dean. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

The knife is Dean's weapon. He spent his life teaching himself how to handle a blade. This was Dean's time to grab Bobby's attention and to show him he wasn't weak. Dean would fight to his last breath and Bobby needed to know that. Dean needed the chance. Dean yanked the knife from the table and got a solid grip on the blade before throwing it at the wall across the room. The blade lodged itself in between two panels leaving the people in the room impressed. At least Castiel looked impressed. Bobby's expression was bare.

"Stand over here. Both of you," said Bobby, nodding to the middle of the room. Dean and Castiel obeyed and he circled them, prodding the two tributes like animals at times before checking their muscles and finally examening their faces. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

Castiel and Dean don't question this. The Hunger Games aren't a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always seem to pull more sponsors.

"Alright, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you," said Bobby. "But you have to do exactly what I say."

It wasn't much of a deal but still a giant step forward from ten minutes prior when Dean and Castiel had no guide at all. 

"Fine," said Castiel.

"So help us," Dean said. "When we get into the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for-"

"One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist," said Bobby.

"But-" Dean began.

"No buts. Don't resist," said Bobby. He takes the bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him the car goes dark. There are still a few lights inside but outside looks as if night has fallen again. Finally it clicked in Dean's head that they must have been travelling underneath the mountain to finally get to the Capitol. The mountains were a natural barrier separating the Capitol from the eastern districts. It was almost impossible to enter from the east except from the tunnels. The geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to Dean being a tribute that day. Since the rebels had to scale the mountains it left them easy targets for the Capitol air force.

Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester stood in silence as the train continued to speed along. The tunnel went on forever and all Dean could think about was the tons of rock separating him from the sky. Dean's chest tightened. He'd prefer to be buried underground then up in the air. When it came to climbing trees and such he preferred to be on the ground. He'd never like being more than ten feet off the ground.

The train finally started slowing down when suddenly a bright light flooded the compartment. The two of them couldn't help it. Both Castiel and Dean ran towards the window to see what they'd only seen on television, the Capitol, the ruling city of Panem. The cameras never lied about its grandeur. If anything, they didn't quiet capture the magnificence of the glistening buildings, the rainbow hues or the tower that flew high into the air. All the colours didn't seem real. None of it seemed real. Everything was bright.

The people began to point at the train that rolled up into the city. Dean stepped away from the window, sickened by the excitement the Capitol people showed when getting their first glances at the tributes. They couldn't wait to watch the tributes die. Unlike Dean who turned away Castiel stood his ground and actually waved back and smiled to the crowd. The only time he stopped was when the train pulled into the station and blocked their view of him.

He sees Dean staring at him and shrugs. "Who knows?" Castiel said. "One of them may be rich."

Dean misjudged him. He recalled all of Castiel's actions since the Reaping began. The friendly squeeze he gave Dean when they shook hands. His tears at the station. Volunteering to was Bobby but then challenging him in the morning when apparently the nice-guy approach had failed him. Now he was waving at the crowd, trying to win them over. All the pieces started fitting together. The plan that he was forming all along. Castiel hasn't accepted death as easily as Dean had. He has been fighting to stay alive since the very beginning. This also meant that the kind Castiel Novak, the Father's son, the boy who saved his life, giving him the bread that gave him hope, was fighting hard to kill him.

 

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Dean gritted his teeth as Claire, a girl with golden hair tightly pulled back and braided strangely, yanked a fabric away from his leg tearing the hair out from beneath. "Don't be such a baby!" she said in her Capitol accent. "You're just so hairy!"

Dean always thought every person in the Capitol was cheery and high pitched. Becky and Samandriel seemed to fit that description but not Claire or Pamela Barnes. Capitol people were odd. Even though not all of them acted the same way, they all spoke the same way. The ends of their sentences always went up as if they were asking a question. Odd vowels, clipped words, always a hiss on the letter s... it was impossible not to make fun of their tone right at that very moment.

"Good news though, it's the last one. Ready?" Claire asked, trying to give a sympathetic face. Dean didn't believe her for one seconds. He gritted his teeth and nodded. The final swathe of his leg hair was uprooted in one painful jerk.

Dean had been in the remake centre for about an hour and he still hadn't met his stylist. Apparently he had no interest in seeing Dean until Claire and the other members of his prep team had addressed some of the obvious problems. That included scrubbing down his body with a gritty loam that removed not only dirt but a few layers of skin, cutting his nail down to nubs, and primarily ridding his body of hair. They stripped his legs, arms, torso and underarms. They didn't bother touching his face, unlike other seventeen year olds, Dean didn't shave yet. The only thing that grew was a small stubble but it never really progressed any further than that. He didn't like one bit of it. But Dean kept his side of the agreement between him, Bobby and Castiel. No objections spewed from his mouth.

"You're doing very well," Samandriel said. He gave his light brown locks a shake while taking away the supplies for Claire. "If there's one thing we can't stand, it's a whiner. Time to grease him down!"

Claire and Becky began to rub Dean down with a lotion that first began to sting but after a few minutes it soothed the raw skin. Claire practically pushed Dean off the table and removed the thin robe he'd been wearing. He stood there naked as the three of them circled him. Claire and Dean locked eyes for a moment, giving him the chance to wink at her. Claire rolled her eyes before taking a step back. Dean didn't care if they saw him naked.

"Well, at least he looks like a human being now." Claire commented earning a laugh from the other two.

Dean kept his face straight. "Thanks." He said. Bobby never said he had to be friends with the prep team, just take orders from them. And that's what he did.

"Once Ash's through with you, you're going to be absolutely gorgeous! Not like you already aren't!" Becky gushed. Dean tried not to cringe from her excitement. "Now that we've gotten rid of all the hair and filth, you're not horrible at all!"

"Let's call Ash." Samandriel suggested and the rest of the team followed him out of the room. Dean was left alone standing naked in the middle of the room. He didn't necessarily hate the prep team, didn't necessarily like them either. Claire was just as snarky as Pamela, making Dean believe that the Capitol was split in two kind of like District 12. You had the idiot airheads like Becky, not so much Samandriel, but the two of them were completely out of their minds. Then there was Claire and Pamela who had comebacks that matched Dean's in a heartbeat. He smirked at that. Maybe not all Capitol people were bad. Maybe. 

Dean's eyes flickered over to the robe hung over the edge of a chair. The cold from the white tiles was seeping into the souls of his feet and Dean resisted a shiver running up his back. Whoever this Ash guy was he was surely going to make Dean undress again, so Dean ignored the robe. Dean went back to the table and took a seat, leaning on his knees and waiting for this Ash guy to stroll in. He ran his fingers through his hair which had just been thoroughly washed. Apparently Dean didn't scrub out as much dirt as he thought. The lighter sandy hair seemed to get a bit lighter. He noticed freckles on his face after the dirt washed away. Dean never glanced in a mirror, if he did it was only for about ten seconds to check how many cuts he'd gotten, how many bruises he'd try to hide, or to see how many bones showed.

The door swung open and a younger man walked in. Dean assumed this must have been Ash. Out of all the Capitol people he'd come in contact with, Ash was surely out there. His hair was shorter in the front, really long in the back. He wore a smirk on his face while strolling into the room, dressed in shabby closed compared to the bright colours of the Capitol. He didn't wear heavy makeup either. He seemed... normal. It was quiet strange for Dean since he was probably the only normal person in the Capitol.

"Hey man, I dig the haircut." Dean said, breaking the ice first between him and his stylist. As if seeing him naked didn't break anything.

Ash ran his fingers through his long hair. "All business up front, party in the back." He replied, his voice lacking the Capitol accent. "Just give me a quick second, 'lright?" he asked. Ash looked away from Dean, moving towards the chair and grabbing the robe. He threw it in Dean's direction and the young tribute caught it in one hand. "Now put some clothes on and we can discuss the opening ceremonies without your junk waving hello."

Dean shrugged the robe over his shoulders as Ash stepped in front of him. "You're new, aren't you? I haven't seen you before," Dean said. Most of the stylists were familiar, while the tributes changed they remained. Some had been around since Dean was a young kid.

"Yeah, this is my first year in the Games," Ash replied.

"Sucks they gave you District 12." Dean said. Newbies often ended up with the least desirable district and that happened to be the one Dean hailed from.

"Actually wise crack, I asked for District 12," he said without further explanation. "Let's go chat somewhere with better lighting."

Ash headed out the door he entered and Dean followed behind. They found themselves in a sitting room just beyond where two red couches faced off over a low table. Three walls were blank and the fourth was made entirely with glass that gave a great view of the city. Judging by the height of the sun Dean assumed it was around noon. Ash invited Dean to sit on one of the red couches while he took a seat across from him. As he relaxed Ash pressed a button on the side of the table that split the glass top in half and raised a platter of food. Chicken, chunks of oranges, different creams and soups, varieties of food that Dean didn't even recognize from the train. Meals were hard to assemble back home. Chicken was expensive, but wild turkey was doable. Oranges would need to be traded for, and those weren't cheap, so another turkey would have to be caught and killed to make it possible. Ruby's goat milk was a substitute for cream. Wild peas grew in the family garden and wild onions could be found in the woods for soup. Dean tried not to lick his lips as his green eyes flashed back towards Ash.

He was a little surprised to find the stylist looking back at him. "We must seem like complete douchebags to you, huh?" Ash asked.

Did he pick it up in Dean's facial expressions or was the guy a mind reader? Damn, Dean thought he had a good poker face. He's right though, Dean hated the Capitol almost as much as Jo.

"Doesn't matter," Ash waved his hand. "So, Dean, let's get on about your costume for the opening ceremonies. Me and my partner Amy, who's the stylist for your fellow tribute Castiel. And our thoughts to dress you is this, we want you to be somewhat matching." Ash explained. "You know how these things go, costumes reflect the flavour of the district."

The opening ceremonies required that the tributes dress in costumes that represented the district's industry. District 11, agriculture. District 4, fishing. District 3, factories. This meant that coming from District 12, Dean and Castiel would be in some sort of coal miner's getup. Since the baggy miner's jumpsuits weren't very appealing the tributes were mostly dressed in skimpy outfits and hats with headlamps. One year the two kids were completely naked with only black powder to represent coal dust covered their private areas. It sucks, and doesn't win any awards with the crowd. Dean tried to prepare himself for the worst. 

"Lemme guess, you and your partner are going to dress us like coal miners, again?" Dean asked.

"Not exactly." Ash smirked. "You see, Amy and I think coal miners have been overdone. Way, way too overdone. No one will remember you, and our job is to make District 12 unforgettable."

Dammit, he was streaking down the street nude.

"Rather than focusing on the coal mining, we're gonna focus on coal," Ash continued. Naked and covered in dust, how creative, Dean thought. "And what happens when coal burns?"

"You're not afraid of fire, are you, Dean?" Ash asked. Dean tried not to think of his mother, not to think of the house fire. Fire was one of the only things, other than flying, that scared Dean out of his wits. What was this crack suggesting? He burst into flames? He'd rather streak naked. Ash smirked when Dean's face turned expressionless.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean knew he was toast the minute he stepped towards the carriage. After Ash dressed him in his costume for the opening ceremonies he tried everything in his power to convince the stylist that lighting it on fire would not be the best way to keep him alive before the Hunger Games. He winced as the cape was secured. It made him think of his mother.

The last night he ever saw his Mom was crystal clear in his mind, even though it was over thirteen years ago. He could remember was his mother carrying him into Sam's room and saying goodnight to his little brother. John had just washed up after working a full day in the mines and Dean ran to his father. John held onto him as Mary kissed Sam's forehead. She was smiling, his father was smiling. They were happy. Dean went to bed with a smile on his face. What felt like minutes later he heard screaming and he raced out of his room. John was holding Sam before placing the little boy in Dean's arms. The walls were on fire, the door, everything was on fire. It was hot, Dean was afraid, but he wasn't allowed to be afraid. What his father said to him stuck with Dean the rest of his life.

'Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don't look back.' He ordered. 'Now, Dean, go!'

And Dean ran like a bat out of Hell. He pushed the front door open and ran into the street where neighbours crowded and screamed in horror. Sam cried in his arms as adults rushed by, pails of water being thrown at their home which was completely consumed in fire. Dean remembered Ellen Harvelle. She picked him up and got him out of the mess of people and off to the side. She made sure him and Sam were okay before going to help. Dean stayed in the Harvelle home with Sam until John showed up.

"It's not real flames, so you're not gonna burn. It's just a little synthetic fire Amy and I whipped up. You'll be fine," Ash said, bringing Dean back to the present. He wasn't completely convinced he was going to be saved from becoming barbeque by the time him and Castiel reached the city's center.

Dean was just glad he wasn't in the girl's position. As he watched other tributes walk by, some girls were so caked he thought that sickly pale colour might actually be their skin tone. Ash was about to apply makeup to him, just 'tone his features' or some crap like that. But Dean wouldn't go quietly. They finally came to an agreement that only a little would be used, but after that he wasn't allowed to make any adjustments to his face. "People are gonna remember you after tonight." Ash said with a giant smirk on his face. He had placed Dean's pin on his chest, somewhere visible and so that when the camera's turned to their chariot, people would see. "Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword."

Castiel showed up not long after, dressed in the exact same suit as Dean with an identical flowing cape following right behind him. He probably knew about fire, having to constantly light candles at the church for his father. His stylist, Amy, and her team were right behind Cas, absolutely giddy with excitement because they knew they'd be the centre of attention. Ash seemed calm when accepting congratulations on his creation.

Dean and Cas were lifted onto their chariots and were given finally touches by their stylists. Each chariot was pulled by a team of four horses. The beasts in front of them were as black as coal. The animals were trained so well that they didn't need guidance from reins. They knew exactly where to take the District 12 tributes. Ash and Amy moved to the side to consult with each other while Dean and Cas waited.

"What do you think?" Castiel whispered to Dean. "You know... about the fire?"

"I'll rip off your cape if you rip off mine," Dean said through gritted teeth. The fire idea was a horrible one and he'd be happy to piss off Ash if it meant not being lit up like a fire cracker.

"Deal," Castiel said. "I know we promise Bobby that we would do whatever the stylists said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

Dean looked around. "Where is Bobby? Isn't he supposed to cover us on this sort of thing?"

"With the amount of alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame." Castiel said.

The two boys started laughing. Dean wasn't sure why he was laughing, and neither was Castiel. Both of them were not acting sensibly. But once the opening music began, they stopped. It was easy to hear, it blasted throughout the entire Capitol. Massive doors slid open to reveal the crowds lining the streets in front of them. The ride would last about twenty minutes from where they were to the City Circle. There, the tributes would be welcomed by the president, the anthem would play, and they would be escorted into the Training Center, which would be their home until the Games began. Dean saw it nothing more than a prison.

The District 1 tributes were pulled out into the streets by snow-white horses. They were beautiful, decorated in tunics and glittering jewels. This represented the district that made luxury items for the Capitol. The roar of the crowd exploded after they caught site of the two tributes. Most of the time they were the crowd favourites.

District 2 was ready in position to follow. It was minutes before Dean and Cas approached the door and Dean could see the dark sky cast above. The tributes were just rolling out by the time Ash came up with a lighted torch in hand. Dean was starting to get more nervous staring at the fire. Images of his mother flashed before his vision, and he was about ready to jump out of the chariot and run as far as the Peacekeepers would let him. Castiel noticed his nervousness.

He was five when the Winchester house fire happened. He had just finished setting away the blessed bread and making sure all the candles were properly placed when he saw the fire out the window. It was bright, he remembered that. It was far, they didn't live close, but he knew it was in the Seam and that something was wrong. His brothers came rushing out after he called, his father following. He ordered his sons to grab as much water as they could find and rush towards the Winchester's home. Castiel was ordered to stay behind, he was young at the time, and his father didn't want him getting hurt. But he went anyway, stayed out of sight, and watched. He saw Dean run out of the house with something in his arms. Castiel saw Ellen Harvelle, a medical woman, grab Dean and place him in her home before going to help. The fire wouldn't go out.

"Here we go," Ash said, lighting the capes on fire. Dean winced, waiting for the heat, but he only felt tingling. Dean let out a small sigh of relief the same time Ash did. "It works." He breathed. This didn't help Dean's anxiety. "Alright, heads high. Try and smile."

Ash jumped off the chariot and gave a small wave as the horses pulled out. Dean's jaw clenched as the entered the streets and the Capitol people got their first look. They lost it. The crowd started chanting, 'District Twelve!' Everywhere Dean looked they were staring at him and Castiel. Whatever impressions the others made were nothing in comparison to them. Dean was speechless at first. He didn't know what to do. He just wanted to stand there and look forward. The last thing on his mind was to allow them to see him smile. Dean looked up at one of the screens and saw Castiel. He looked terrified. He looked like he was going to be sick. This wasn't how the two of them wanted to be represented.

Dean cracked a smile, a half smile, and raised his hand. The crowd got louder if that was possible. The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration, it gave Dean something. He lifted his chin higher, made his smile wider and waved his free hand. He offered his other hand to Castiel. The older boy looked down at Dean's hand before up at him. Dean nodded and Castiel linked their fingers. They raised their hands high and the people lost it. They showered Dean and Castiel in flowers, shouting their names, first and last, which they found on the program.

Dean could hear them shouting something else. He heard multiple people call out, 'angel!', 'sword!', 'the Michael sword!'. He would not be forgotten in these games. Not his look or his name. Ash was right.

Dean Winchester. The Michael Sword.

For the first time since the reaping, there was hope in Dean. Hell, maybe a first time in a long time. There had to be sponsors lining up to support him. Dean didn't count himself out of the Games anymore, he was an opponent to be feared.

Someone threw a rose at Dean which he caught and held above his head.

"Dean! Dean!"

His name was called from left and right. Everyone wanted him to look in their direction.

It wasn't until the chariot pulled up into the City Circle that Dean remembered he was still holding Castiel's hand. He let it go, him and Castiel sharing a quick nod before they look up to the balcony. All twelve chariots filled the loop of the City Circle, all buildings surrounding them were packed with citizens waiting and watching. The horses have stopped right outside President Metatron's mansion.

The music stopped and he stepped out.

The president, a small, chubby man with grey and white hair, gave the official welcome on his balcony. Tradition was that the camera crews would cut away from the tributes during the speech and focus on the president, but all Dean could see was him and Cas still on the screens. The darker the sky became, the harder it was to ignore District 12. When the anthem played, they cut to each district and held onto 12 until the chariots circled the square one more time before disappearing into the Training Centre.

Once the doors shut behind them, the prep teams swarmed Castiel and Dean. Their words tumble over each other as they praise the pairs' performance. Dean looked around at other tributes who were glaring at them. This confirmed that him and Cas outshone everyone else. His eyes caught the tribute from District 2, covered in gold armour. His eyes narrowed at Dean's and he shot back a look just as ugly. They were definitely not going to be good friends. Ash and Amy showed up and helped Cas and Dean down from the chariot, removing the flaming capes that have long since gone out.

"Thank you, Dean." Castiel said while the prep teams were occupied with Ash and Amy.

Dean looked confused. "For what?"

"Helping me out there. I couldn't face the crowd, not without your help." Castiel smield softly.

Dean smiled back, feeling a warmth rushing through him, until a warning bell went off in his head. He was being stupid. Castiel was planning on how to kill him. He was luring Dean in to make it that much easier. The more likeable Castiel became, the more deadly he was. But Dean knew two could play at his game. So Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel's neck and smiled at him.


	6. Chapter 6

The Training Centre had a tower designed for the tributes and their teams. It was to be their home before the Games started. It's where they ate, trained, and strategized. Each district was assigned a floor all to themselves. All one had to do was get into the elevator and press the number of their district. Simple. 

The only time Dean rode in an elevator was the day prior when he was saying his final goodbyes to his friends and family. But that one was dark and creaky. It moved slower than it took to get from one side of the district to the other and smelled like sour milk. This elevator was made of crystal so that you could see the Capitol behind you and the people below you shrink. It was the height that bothered Dean, something he'd always hated. Dean was happy to step out of it onto solid ground. He'd prefer that no one know heights made him uncomfortable, so he didn't shove his way out of the elevator. He moved calmly onto the floor. His thoughts drifted as he looked around and Pamela commented on how his mouth hung open.

Apparently, Pamela's duties didn't conclude at the station. Her and Bobby would oversee Castiel and Dean until they entered the arena. It was a good thing, since she would probably be the only one able to handle all of them without completely loosing her head. Plus, if they needed to get somewhere on time, that duty should not freely be given to Bobby. Speaking of the old drunk, they still hadn't seen him since the train. Dean's best guess was that he passed out somewhere. Pamela, on the other hand, was still in a giddy mood. Castiel and Dean were the first team she ever had that made that big of an impact at the opening ceremonies. She went on to compliment them on the costumes and how they conducted themselves. Fortunately for Dean, Pamela wasn't the over excited type.

Although, Pamela did go on about trying to get them sponsors even though she knew it was Bobby's job.

"I've been as inconspicuous about you two as I could get." She explained. "Since Bobby hasn't decided to tell me your strategies, I've had to improvise. Everyone wants to know about Dean's sacrifice for his brother. How you've both struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district." Pamela added. Dean was about to speak up about her last comment until she continued. "But I told them how fortunate District 12 was compared to other districts. I mean, come on, look at the two of you. I've never seen an outer district with more class than 12."

Dean still wasn't comfortable with her opinion but kept his mouth shut. "And this old friend of mine, Effie Trinket, she came down and decided to help me out, although it wasn't much help. Whoever I approach she goes up to and says, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'." Pamela explained. "Everyone knows District 12 is the mine district, but if you put pressure on coals, doesn't it turn to crystal?"

Coal doesn't turn to pearls, those grow in shellfish. And crystals are just as far off.

Effie and Pamela probably meant that coal turns to diamonds, which is also very untrue. Rumour around school was that a machine in District 1 could turn graphite into diamonds. But graphite isn't mined in District 12. It was part of District 13's job until the Capitol blew them sky high. Dean wondered if the people Effie and Pamela talked to actually knew or didn't care.

"Unfortunately it's Bobby's job to seal the deals, not mine. But don't worry, if push comes to shove I'll get him to the table at gunpoint." Pamela aded. Dean smirked at that.

Dean's room in the Training Centre had to be bigger than his entire house back home. It was plush, like the train car, but also had weird little gadgets that he wouldn't have enough time to learn about. The shower alone had a panel with hundreds of options that could choose between regulating water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, and massaging sponges. Half this crap wasn't something Dean would even consider. All he wanted was the hot water. When he stepped out onto the mat, heaters come on that would blow dry your body. Much faster than wiping himself down, but also completely unnecessary.

He programmed the closet for clothes that fit his taste. Jeans, ones that weren't ripped. He also programmed a bunch of work shirts, ones that weren't smelly, his father's hand me downs, or dirty. He had boots which he preferred and he made sure to keep the pin with him. Dean didn't pin it to his chest but shoved it deep into his pocket. Near the windows was a panel where all he had to do was say a food from the menu and it appeared, hot and steamy, in less than a minute. Dean walked around, eating a peanut butter sandwich and staring out the window into the Capitol. He did this until Pamela called him for dinner.

Cas, Ash and Amy were standing on the balcony that overlooked the Capitol when Dean and Pamela entered the dining room. He was glad to see the stylists, especially after hearing Bobby was going to be joining the meal. A meal with just Bobby and Pamela was bound to be entertaining. Besides, this dinner wasn't going to be about eating. It was time to plan strategies, and Ash and Amy's input would be valuable. Dean wanted to hear what they had to say.

A silent man dressed in a white tunic offered each of them a stemmed glass of wine. Dean was about to accept it but Bobby immediately looks to the man. "We ain't drinkin' none of that. Bring out the Corona." Bobby said.

In a few minutes the man was back, handing out glasses of the alcoholic drink. Bobby took it straight out of a bottle which was also what Dean accepted. He knew this kind of beer. Only because one time Bobby stumbled into the Hob drunk and demanded that Rufus hand him over a few bottles. Rufus tried to explain that he didn't make it and Bobby just left. So Dean drank it, having been used to alcohol since that and water were the only substances his father kept stocked in their home. Dean was surprised when Bobby acted civil, maybe for Ash and Amy's sake, but he wasn't acting how he usually did. He knew not to get used to this behaviour.

Dean concentrated on the meal while Bobby and Pamela complimented Ash and Amy on the ceremony success. Sitting in front of him was mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef sliced as thin as paper, noodles in a green sauce, cheese that melted on his tongue and sweet blue grapes. Dean wasn't done stuffing himself. He wasn't a skinny kid, not as tiny as Castiel was, but then again, he wasn't very large. He decided putting on a few pounds before the games wouldn't be too bad an idea, so the amount he ate just about made him sick. But Dean didn't care. He probably wasn't going to have a meal like that ever again.

The servers kept moving. They kept moving to and from the table, keeping the plates and glasses full. Dean was on his third beer before he felt the buzz hit him. He didn't stop though, he wasn't a light weight. He finally joined in on the conversation. It moved to the interview costumes which Dean wasn't too thrilled about. He just prayed that wasn't going to light on fire too. He was done with fire and didn't plan on pushing his limits when it came to being spared from becoming barbeque. A giant pie was set in front of Dean which was being cut by one of the servers. Dean thought of the last time he had pie. His Mom made it.

This made him smile lightly as he looked up at the server. "Please tell me this is apple." He said, catching the girl's eye. "Man this stuff is- wait... do I know you?"

He couldn't place her name. But Dean knew. The bright red hair, the porcelain white skin. He knew her from somewhere. But as he thought more on it, a sinking feeling filled his stomach. Whatever memory he shared with this girl wasn't a pleasant one. Terror seemed to cross her face which only added to his confusion. She shook her head slightly before moving away from the table and out of Dean's sight. He looked over at her but she was already gone.

When Dean looked back at the four adults they looked at him, more like stared intensely.

"Don't be ridiculous, Dean. There's know way you could know an Avox." Pamela snapped.

"What's an Avox?" Dean asked stupidly.

"Someone who committed a crime. Their tongues are cut out, so she can't speak," said Bobby. "She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her."

"And even if you did, you don't speak to them unless it's to give an order. But you don't know her, right Dean?" Pamela asked.

But he did know her. And the moment the word 'traitor' left Bobby's mouth, he knew exactly where he knew her from. But the disapproval he got from everyone at the table forced him to remain silent about it. He wasn't going to ever admit it to any one of them.

"I guess not-" Dean said just as Castiel spoke up.

"Meg Masters." He said. "I thought she looked familiar as well. She reminds me of Meg, wouldn't you agree?"

Meg Masters was a pasty faced, short girl with hair as black as coal who looked as much like the Avox as much as a dog looked like a cat. Meg was a snappy girl, not afraid to shoot you down if you ever fought against her. She was nice to you if she wanted something from you. However, Meg was friendly to Dean and his brother Sam, along with Jo. Quickly, Dean jumped onto Castiel's suggestion to get the rest of them off his back. "Right, that's who I musta been thinking of. It's the hair." Dean said.

"Something about the eyes, too," Castiel added.

Everyone else at the table seemed to relax. "Well, if that's all." Ash said before taking a beer and having a swig. "And yeah, it's apple pie. I was gonna order a cake in celebration for your victory tonight, but flames seem to make you uncomfortable." Ash said.

Bobby and Castiel shot a look over to Dean. "Just a tad." Dean said while having another drink.

After the pie is done everyone moved into the sitting room to watch the replay of the opening ceremony. A few other tributes made an impression but the camera held onto Dean and Castiel the longest. Even their own party let out sounds of excitement when Dean and Castiel came out of the Remake Centre. Dean just slouched back in his seat and crossed his arms. He didn't see the big fuss over it. But then again, this wasn't something he'd ever seen before.

"Whose idea was the hand holding?" Bobby asked.

"Dean's." Castiel admitted.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion." Bobby commented while having a sip at his beer. "Very nice."

This made Dean think for a moment. Rebellion? What the hell did that even mean? He held Castiel's hand because the poor guy looked like he was about to pass out. But then he thought back to the other pairs who stood as far apart from each other as they could get, never touch, never even acknowledging the other tribute. It was like the Games already begun, and Dean knew what Bobby was trying to say. They presented themselves as friends and not enemies.

"Tomorrow is the first training session. Meet me before breakfast and I'll tell ya how we're gonna play this out," Bobby said to Dean and Cas. "Get some sleep so the grown ups can talk."

Castiel and Dean walk together down the corridor towards their rooms. Before Dean could turn the handle on his door Castiel leaned against the frame, not exactly blocking his way inside but making it clear he wanted an explanation. "So, Meg Masters. Imagine finding her lookalike here."

Dean knew that meant Cas wanted an explanation. And he kinda had to give him one since he covered for Dean. Even if he told the story to Cas, he wouldn't get in trouble. Dean was just a witness to the incident, and Castiel lied about Meg just as much as Dean did. And Dean kinda wanted to talk about the girl to someone. Why not Cas? He might be able to help him figure things out about her story. Naturally, Jo would be his first choice, but he probably wasn't going to see her again. Dean tried to see how this would give Cas some sort of leverage over him, but he didn't see any. Maybe this would make Castiel think Dean saw him as a friend. Dean knew he could play the game just as well.

Castiel noticed Dean's confliction about opening up. "Have you been on the roof yet?" Castiel asked. Dean shook his head. "You could practically see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud, though."

Dean caught onto Castiel's code: No one will overhear us talking. "Can we just go up?" Dean asked.

"Sure, come on." said Castiel.


End file.
